Crypt Suzette

by Maya Corrigan

  Val took a break from scrolling through the document. Did Suzette have maids on the brain? They seemed to pop up everywhere, in her talk at the costume contest, in the book she was writing, and at her workplace. Val wished she knew more about that workplace. Apart from the tight-lipped maid Maria, she had another possible source at the Harbor Inn—the assistant manager. And Nick wanted to talk to her, trying to reach her through the bookshop. She would call him later, after she finished Suzette’s story.

  The front door creaked, announcing Granddad’s return.

  He joined her in the study. “That was a bust. I stopped at half the eating and drinking places in town. No one recognized Suzette or her cousin. Some people who worked last night had tonight off, so tomorrow I’ll have to go back to the same spots and also hit the ones I didn’t get to.”

  “Aren’t you and Ned going for pizza tomorrow?” Every Monday evening, after Granddad submitted his weekly recipe column, he met his friend at Giovanni’s restaurant in a strip mall outside town.

  “Ned won’t mind a change of pace. We’ll have a bite here and there, at places I didn’t visit tonight.”

  Val had encouraged him to show Suzette’s photo around town to give him something to do besides sitting at home. Now she felt guilty about sending him on what would probably prove a useless errand. “Don’t get hung up on finding where Suzette went last night and who was with her. If the person she met had a car, they didn’t necessarily stay in Bayport. She also could have gone to someone’s house.”

  “Yup, and whatever she said or did last night mighta had nothing to do with the hit-and-run, but I gotta give it a try.” Granddad peered over her shoulder at the computer screen. “What’s that?”

  “The mystery Suzette was writing.”

  “Did you get to the premonition yet?” When Val shook her head, he stopped squinting at the screen. “Any of those mummy apple pies left over from yesterday?”

  “I kept a few ugly mummies for us, the ones where the filling oozed out of the pastry. Help yourself.”

  Granddad left for the kitchen.

  Val went back to reading Suzette’s chapters. The romance between the son and the lady’s maid caused discord among the staff. The housekeeper warned the maid she’d lose her job if her liaison with the son came out. The saucy maid declared that he loved her and that one day she’d be mistress of the house. She’d previously encouraged the chauffeur’s advances until the businessman’s son showed interest in her. After she switched her affections, the chauffeur spied on the son and the maid, seething with jealousy. The governess, who’d hoped to attract the son, was infuriated that he might prefer an uneducated maid to her.

  Early one morning the lady’s maid was found dead at the edge of the woods along the road leading to the house. Her bashed head rested on a rock. Members of the household considered how she might have died. Had she stumbled on a root and fallen on the rock? Had someone hit her with the rock and then placed it under her head? The niece with sleuthing instincts considered another possibility—that a car ran into the maid and she landed on the rock.

  On the last page Suzette had written, members of the household awaited the arrival of the police.

  Val leaned back in the desk chair. Suzette’s plot was more country house murder than Downton Abbey.

  Granddad came into the study. “What’s the verdict? Did she have a premonition?”

  “I’m too down-to-earth to believe that.” A different interpretation occurred to Val. “Something more ominous could explain the similarity between Suzette’s death and the one in her story. She sent what she wrote to five people. Maybe the fictional crime wasn’t a premonition by the writer but an inspiration to a reader.”

  Chapter 10

  Granddad sat down on the sofa in the study and listened to Val’s summary of the first chapters of Suzette’s book.

  He stroked his chin. “I don’t buy that Suzette’s story inspired a member of her writing group to copycat the crime in the book. The killer would have been stupid. That would narrow the suspects to people who read her story.”

  Val couldn’t argue with his logic, but he’d assumed the killer was also logical, not always the case. “I mentioned inspiration because it makes more sense than premonition, but coincidence is also a possibility. The chief told me the hit-and-run driver couldn’t have predicted Suzette would suffer a fatal head injury. Her story doesn’t say for sure that the maid was hit by a car.”

  Granddad stroked his chin. “Maybe Suzette wrote more of the story and shared it with one person in the group. It could be on her computer.”

  “Which is password protected. The police have ways to crack passwords. They’d scour her laptop for leads if they thought she was hit deliberately.”

  “I did my best to convince ’em, but I didn’t succeed.” He yawned. “Been a long day. I’m ready to turn in.”

  Val popped up and kissed him. “Goodnight, Granddad.”

  After he left, she rummaged in her shoulder bag, located the note with Nick’s phone number on it, and called him. He was delighted to hear from her. As she’d anticipated, he had no questions for her about catering. Instead, he asked if she’d meet him for a drink tomorrow night. She suggested the wine bar next to the bookshop at five thirty. The place served only nibbles, so drinks wouldn’t evolve into dinner.

  After hanging up, she gave Suzette’s cousin another call and once again reached only her voice mail.

  She then went upstairs to try some obvious passwords on Suzette’s computer. Val remembered reading that nearly twenty percent of passwords are a series of numbers starting with one. She tried sequences of different lengths and then reversed the numbers. Almost as common as numbers in sequence was the word password used as the password. Val tried it with various upper and lowercase combinations without success. She also tried shortened forms of Suzette’s name and repetitions of her initials. Then she did what she should have done before depending on guesswork. She dug out the folder in which she’d found Suzette’s bank statements and her will to look for a password list. No list.

  Val shut down the computer and went to bed. In her dreams passwords floated by her too fast for her to read.

  * * *

  The next day Val was taking the lunch quiches out of the café oven when Suzette’s cousin called her.

  Sandy Sechrest apologized for not returning Val’s call. “Suzette’s mother got in touch with me yesterday. I assumed you called to give me the same sad news. I delayed getting back to you because I couldn’t face talking about what happened.”

  “I understand. My grandfather and I are sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I’m grateful to him for giving Suzette a place to stay. She told me how kind both of you were.”

  “I’ll pass that on to my grandfather. We didn’t know who should get the news about Suzette, so we looked in her room for contact information. Your name and number were in the will she’d written.” The silence that followed suggested Sandy was surprised.

  “She made a will? Her mother didn’t tell me that.”

  “I doubt she knew. Suzette named you her executor and primary beneficiary.” Val heard a gasp on the other end of the line. “I’ll scan and e-mail you a copy. You can pick up the notarized version when you come to collect Suzette’s belongings.”

  “She never had many belongings. Her mother told me she was going to collect whatever Suzette left—”

  “Suzette didn’t want that,” Val interrupted. “She put a clause in her will that said—this isn’t an exact quote but it’s close—under no circumstances should my mother, Wanda Cripps, inherit anything I own.”

  “Wanda’s not going to believe me unless I show it to her. Can you send me a copy right away?” Sandy recited her e-mail address.

  Val made a note of it. “I’m at work now. I’ll send it later from home.”

  “I just hope you don’t find Wanda on your doorstep when you get there.”

  Good thing the chief hadn’t give
n Granddad’s name, address, and phone number to Suzette’s mother. “She doesn’t know where the doorstep is.”

  “Yes, she does. I told her your address. Suzette had given it to me.”

  Yipes! Val would have to warn Granddad. “I’m sorry. I have to get off the phone in a minute. When do you think you might be able to come for Suzette’s belongings?”

  Sandy took a minute to check her calendar. “I have time at the end of the week. Let’s say Thursday afternoon.”

  That would work for Val too. “My condolences again on your loss.”

  While Val was on the phone, half a dozen customers had arrived. She put off calling Granddad, took their orders, and made their lunches. Then more people came into the café. One of them left behind a copy of the Treadwell Gazette. Val spotted the headline BAYPORT HIT-AND-RUN VICTIM IDENTIFIED. Citing a Bayport Police Department news release as the source, the reporter gave the time and location of Sunday morning’s fatal accident, identified Suzette by name and age, and mentioned she’d recently moved to Bayport. The article ended with a request that anyone with information contact the police.

  Val had just finished reading it when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. “Hi, Granddad. Did you see the article on the hit-and-run in today’s paper?”

  “Yup. Bare bones. I’m glad our address wasn’t in the paper, but Suzette’s mother knows it. She’s on her way here. Can you come home early? She might be a handful.”

  An understatement, Val suspected. “Suzette’s cousin gave her our address. Mrs. Cripps must have looked up the phone number. She didn’t give you much notice.”

  “She phoned this morning. She wanted to see where her daughter had spent her final days and asked if I’d be home today. I told her to come at two thirty when you’d be back from work. She just called again to say she’s made great time and will arrive at one thirty. Can you get Jeremy to relieve you early?”

  Val’s afternoon assistant was usually willing to earn extra money. “I’ll try to reach him. See you as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  When Val arrived home at one thirty, a Ford Taurus occupied her spot in the driveway. It looked as old as her Saturn, but in worse shape with dents and rust. Must be Wanda Cripps’s car. Val parked in front of a neighbor’s house, walked up the driveway, and went in by the side door.

  With the vestibule door cracked open, she heard a woman’s voice coming from the sitting room.

  “Suz always liked older men, but I didn’t expect someone as, um, mature as you.”

  “Glad you called me mature, not ancient,” Granddad said.

  Mrs. Cripps laughed. “Were you her sugar daddy?”

  The silence suggested her question had left Granddad speechless.

  Val decided it was time to make her entrance. She waltzed into the sitting room and introduced herself to the middle-aged woman on the sofa. “You must be Suzette’s mother.”

  The black-clad woman nodded. “Wanda Cripps.”

  She was younger than Val had expected, early forties at most. Her chin-length hair, dark-rooted and bleached to platinum blond, framed a pale face with more makeup on it than Val used in a year. Black eyeliner, lashes thick with mascara, and maroon lipstick gave Wanda a look closer to Goth than glamour.

  Val expressed her condolences and sat down in the chair near the fireplace, facing Suzette’s mother.

  “Mrs. Cripps just told me that Suzette liked older men.” Granddad turned to his guest. “Did she have an older boyfriend when she was living at home?”

  “She didn’t have one of her own. She made a play for my boyfriend. I guess she was jealous of me.”

  And vice versa, Val suspected. “Is he still your boyfriend?”

  “Not after what Suzette did. One night when I was working, she talked him into taking her drinking. Then she crashed his car. Someone older was supposed to be with her because she only had a learner’s permit. She said he was drunk, and that’s why she had to drive.”

  “Was she tested for alcohol?”

  “Yeah, and don’t ask me how she passed. She probably flirted with the cop who tested her.” Mrs. Cripps shrugged. “I can’t hold that against her. I’d have done the same thing to avoid a ticket. My boyfriend wanted nothing to do with us after that mess. He was a good man, my best chance of happiness ruined.”

  “What’s his name?” Granddad said.

  Suzette’s mother stared at him. Then her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Lloyd Leerman. Did he show up here?”

  Val was about to say they hadn’t seen Suzette with any men, but Granddad got the first word in. “What’s he look like?”

  “Tall. Blond. Beefy. Scar on his forehead.”

  Granddad looked at the ceiling for a moment, as if searching for a memory up there, and said, “Nope, never saw him. Was Suzette involved with other men?”

  “If she was, she didn’t tell me. The police chief said she was jogging when she got hit. I always told her she was crazy to do that. If she needed exercise, she shoulda done what I did and got paid for it.”

  “What did you do?” Granddad said.

  “Worked two jobs. First thing in the morning, I made up the rooms at a motel. You lift up those thick mattresses, you don’t need barbells.” Wanda Cripps raised an arm like Rosie the Riveter showing her bicep.

  Val wondered if Suzette’s concern for the plight of maids stemmed from her mother’s work. “What was your other job?”

  “Waitress. On my feet the whole time. You don’t need to jog when you wait tables. That’s what I told Suzette. But reading, writing, and running—that’s all she ever wanted to do. Work didn’t interest her.”

  “She was a hard worker as long as we knew her.” Granddad hit the chair arm with his fist like a judge cutting off idle talk with a gavel. “Have you told Mr. Cripps about Suzette?”

  “If I knew where he was I might tell him . . . or I might not. He checked out when Suzette was a baby. I tracked him down a few times over the years to get him to pay child support. He’d do it for a while, and then he’d move on to somewhere else, so I’d have trouble finding him.” Mrs. Cripps stood up. “I’ve got a three-hour ride back. I’d better get a look at what Suzette left to see if anything’s worth keeping and hauling back home. Would you show me her room?”

  Granddad looked pointedly at Val, expecting her to deliver the bad news.

  She briefly explained the terms of Suzette’s will, leaving out what it said about her mother. To forestall any objections Mrs. Cripps might have, Val added, “I showed the will to a lawyer, who said it was valid. It’s up to Sandy Sechrest to dispose of Suzette’s property. We have no say in it.” And neither do you, Mrs. Cripps.

  Mrs. Cripps put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t Sandy tell me that before I drove here?”

  “She only found out an hour ago,” Val said.

  “Did she ever come here to visit Suzette?” Mrs. Cripps looked first at Val and then at Granddad for an answer. They both shook their heads. She smiled briefly. “Since I’ve come all this way, you can at least point me to her room. I’d like to say goodbye to Suzette in the place where she spent her last days.”

  Granddad raised an eyebrow at this hint of sentimentality, but he probably wasn’t fooled by it. “Will you please show her Suzette’s room, Val? Holler if you need my help.”

  She took the hint that she was supposed to stay with Suzette’s mother and make sure nothing disappeared. She led the woman up the front staircase and through the hall to the back bedroom.

  Val stood in the doorway as Mrs. Cripps walked around the small room, looked into the closet, and peered at the computer. She jiggled the mouse. Its blank screen lit up and displayed the password prompt. Her next stop was the dresser. She moved the items on it around—a couple of books, the prop eyeglasses Suzette had worn as part of her costume, a hairbrush, and a comb. Mrs. Cripps leaned toward the mirror over the dresser, picked up the comb, and ran it through her hair. She probably had her own comb in the faux leather
satchel she carried, but by using the one on the dresser, she seemed to make a claim on her daughter’s property.

  She put the comb down and picked up the brown teddy bear that sat on the dresser propped against the wall. The golden brown bear was about a foot tall. Its fur looked mangy in spots, and one of its button eyes was missing. “I gave this to Suzette when she was really small. I didn’t know she kept it all those years.”

  Wanda’s sigh sounded heartfelt to Val, the first sign of any emotional attachment to her daughter.

  She clutched the stuffed animal and sat down on the bed. “I need a few minutes to think about my little girl. You don’t have to wait.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind.” Val would have left her alone to grieve, but felt obliged to follow Suzette’s wishes and keep her property out of her mother’s hands. Mrs. Cripps couldn’t be trusted to pay attention to Suzette’s final request.

  Val noticed Suzette’s gift certificate from the Title Wave on the dresser. Mrs. Cripps must have uncovered it when shifting things around. It had probably been under the books. Val took one of them and put it on top of the certificate.

  Wanda Cripps stood up within two minutes. “I’d like a little something to remember Suzette by. Once I pick out what I want, you and your grandfather could do the same. Sandy would never know.” She ran her fingers over the marble-topped night table. “I could fit this in my trunk. It’s a nice piece.”

  Val forced herself to smile. “It was one of my grandmother’s favorites. Suzette rented the room furnished. If you want anything of hers, you’ll have to talk to Sandy.”

  Mrs. Cripps glared at her. “I want something to remember my daughter by.” She grabbed the teddy bear she’d dropped on the bed, stomped out of the room, and went down the stairs. She slammed the front door behind her.

  Good riddance.

  Granddad was no longer in the sitting room, but Val knew where to find him. On Mondays, when his Codger Cook column was due, he spent most of his time testing recipes in the kitchen. Val went into the study, ignoring the mess Granddad had made the day before in his search for the Patels’ phone number. She scanned a copy of Suzette’s will, e-mailed it to Sandy Sechrest, and then joined him at the kitchen island.